You are jostled awake the next morning by Pascal bouncing around you and shaking your shoulders. "Come on, up up up! You don't wanna be late for your whatever-it-is!" There's a slight burning smell in the air--thankfully, the breakfast she'd prepared consisting of pancakes and (you guessed it) bananas is only slightly charred and still looks edible. She confesses this is the first time she's cooked for anyone but herself before she shoves you to a chair, eagerly awaiting your verdict.
Your “whatever-it-is”? For a moment you’d forgotten your excuse to stay here. You would have to come up with a better one next time. “I went to visit Malik”, maybe. Perhaps you should pay him a visit as well. It’s been too long.
You never had much of a taste for bananas. Something about their texture throws you off. How Pascal can eat them for every meal baffles you in your idle moments. The pancakes are burned slightly beyond your liking, and contorted into bizarre shapes—Pascal, of course, had no patience for order or pattern.
"It is the best meal I have ever eaten," you say, and you mean it.